


I Was Good To You

by Of_Heaven_And_Hell



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Domestic Violence, M/M, kinda sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-06
Updated: 2016-02-06
Packaged: 2018-05-18 11:34:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5926932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Of_Heaven_And_Hell/pseuds/Of_Heaven_And_Hell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Loving you is the last thing that I felt really good at."</p><p>Bellamy's knuckles begin to feel like home. Murphy settles down in the splits and decorates their walls with shades of purple and black.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Was Good To You

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea how this happened, it's a lot different than how I usually write.
> 
>  
> 
> It's inspired by "Scars/To the new boyfriend" by Rudy Francisco

// Before the drop ship door even opens, black hair and freckles are all he can see. The boy exudes confidence, the kind that Murphy's only seen in the villains of worn out comic books.

When the door does open, his outline blocks Murphy's view of the sun. His figure glows. He looks like an angel, halo and all.

He is not. (But that's okay, Murphy's never believed in perfection anyway.)

 

// His cuff comes off. It feels like the stories of serpents crushing bones into powder. His walls fall down. It feels the same.

 

// He takes him to a tree, carves in their initials, lights a fire in Murphy's belly. It is the first time Bellamy tells him that he loves him. It is the last time too.

 

// It is mere hours later that Bellamy kicks the crate and he isn't quite sure what he expected. The fire in his stomach grows when it should extinguish. It burns away important, necessary parts of himself and Murphy is left with no choice but to replace them with Bellamy: the anger in his voice, the hatred in his gaze; everything else that he doesn't deserve at all but deserves so much, all the same.

 

// He was never really good at anything. But he was good at loving Bellamy, or at least acting like he did, and he figured everybody ought to be good at something.

So when he comes back, tortured and ugly, he loves Bellamy, makes it his priority. He spends his days building the older boy's alter and spends his nights using it to worship him.

Bellamy doesn't want him. (That's okay, no one else does either.)

 

// The first time Bellamy does it, they are back at "their" tree. Murphy saw where their initials had been, and he saw where they had been scratched out. He got mad. So did Bellamy. His fist moved so fast that Murphy didn't see it coming. The silence lasted longer than the pain.

"I'm so sorry." It's okay.

"I need you." Murphy needs him too.

"It will never happen again." They laugh after he says that, quiet chuckles giving way to the loud kind of laughter that makes one's stomach ache. It's a lie, they both know it, but it's easier than the truth and it fills a bit of Murphy's emptiness.

He really wants to be good at something.

 

// Somewhere along the way, Bellamy stops holding back. There are so many things for him to do and so many reasons for him to be angry. He hits Murphy more, and he always tells him it won't happen again. They've long since stopped laughing about the lie, it's lost its appeal. But it seems to fill a bit of Bellamy's emptiness and so Murphy still lets it be okay.

 

// Bellamy's knuckles begin to feel like home. Murphy settles down in the splits and decorates their walls with shades of purple and black.

 

// His heavy boots return the favor, color in the spaces between Murphy's ribs; alters their structure on occasions when their owner feels particularly inspired.

 

// Clarke tells him to get help. He doesn't need help. He needs to be good at something.

 

// Octavia walks in one night, sees the hand wrapped around Murphy's throat, the blood that's decorated their tent. The look on her face becomes Murphy's new definition of rage and before any excuse can make it's way past his lips, Bellamy is ripped away from him. She beats her brother in a way that Murphy knows all too well, even as he tries to stop her. 

He wonders how much of it runs in the family.

Lincoln finds them soon enough, O's shrieks reaching him across the camp. He breaks it up, grabs his lover and drags her out; she takes Murphy with her.

"You don't deserve that." She tells him. He is sure that he does.

"You can stay with us." Lincoln tells him. It is the kind of offer he would have needed before he loved Bellamy, the kind that was too late now.

He is back in Bellamy's tent the next day.

 

// They all offer their help, their advice. But he doesn't need it. He needs to be good at fucking something.

 

//// Weeks later, he is lying on the dirt in his tent. It's become a sort of mud as it's mixed with his blood. He's not sure what his injuries are, but he knows they're bad anyway. 

Bellamy tells him that it'll never happen again.

Murphy tells him it's okay. "I love you." He whispers, even though it hurts to do so.

Bellamy falters for a second, then continues putting on his jacket. When he walks out the door, he doesn't look back.

That's okay, Murphy thinks. He did his best.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, kudos and comments are appreciated. I can be reached for prompts and whatever else at devotedlydecaffeinatedtyrant on tumblr.


End file.
